Mrs. Lacy


Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Coercion, Heterosexual, Rough, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Hot wife has her eye on the handiman.

Only six o'clock and the day was already hot. I drove in another nail, keeping my mind on the goal. That goal was to finish before she came out of the house. This was my third day on the project and the routine was always the same. She would come out and tease me senseless.

She asked me to build a shed. The lady was the boss, so I agreed to build a shed for her. When I decided to do the job, though, I had no idea what kind of torture I'd be in for. I decided to finish the damned thing today, even if it killed me.

By seven, I'd taken my shirt off. It was going to be a scorcher if the weather man was to be believed. By eight, I was trying to create enough spit to wash the dust out of my mouth. My water jug was empty.

After another narrow miss of my thumb with the hammer, I stopped to wipe the sweat from my face. That's when I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. It was a curtain in the window, moving just enough to let me know she was there, watching me.

Just great. Today was going to be the same as the last two. Well, I wasn't in the mood for it. Mrs. Lacy had better watch her backside, if she knew what was good for her.

By nine she was moving throughout the house. I heard the central air kick in, felt the blast of hot air coming from the exhaust. She was inside, probably wearing one of those skimpy nighties she liked to parade before the windows in. She was cool and comfortable while I was out in the yard, slaving away.

I looked up in time to see her sashay by the French doors that opened to the back yard. The woman was shameless in her filmy negligee. I saw the smile she flashed me with those painted lips.

To add to my discomfort, a throb started in my jeans. I did my best to ignore the situation as I picked up the first piece of siding to nail in place. I didn't want to look, but like a trained dog I turned my head to see her watching me from the doors. I swear I could see the color of her nipples through the pale cloth.

She knew exactly what she was doing. The woman was enjoying the effect she was having on me. I swiped at a whining mosquito and returned to my job. There was no way I was going to look at her again. I'd learned my lesson about married women. They were always starved for attention.

I didn't know what she did after that and I didn't care. As far as I was concerned, the sooner the job was finished the better.

An hour later, she sauntered into the back yard. I could hear her; Christ, I could even smell her when she came outside. Keeping my back to her, I kept swinging my hammer.

"You look thirsty," she crooned.

"I'm good," I muttered. I didn't stop working.

"I made you some lemonade," she said in that sultry voice of hers. "I squeezed the lemons myself. You can stop long enough to wet your whistle."

"You're the boss," I told her.

I laid my hammer down and turned to look at her. That was a mistake. I know my jaw fell open when she slipped the glass into my hand. Her fingers grazed my wrist, sending a jolt through me.

The woman was living recklessly. She stood in front of me dressed in the skimpiest bikini I'd ever seen. The top barely covered her nipples, let alone the large globes of her firm tits. I almost dropped the glass.

"Drink up," she said.

It was all I could do to pull my eyes away from all that flesh, but I had to do it. I felt like a pubescent kid who got caught staring at his buddy's older sister through the bathroom window. The tart drink did little to cool the excess heat she was causing.

I set the glass on a sawhorse and moved to the other side of the shed frame. I needed to put some distance between us. From this vantage point, though, I could still see everything she was doing. Through the framed windows, I could see her sneaking looks at me.

She took a drink from her own glass. A small amount dribbled from the corner of her mouth to land on her left boob. I wasn't so far away that I couldn't see how the little rivulet rolled down into the valley of her cleavage, heading south.

My eyes followed the path the lemonade was taking. My gaze wandered lower, taking in the way her ribs tapered to her small waist and the curves of her hips. She was wearing a thin skirt over her bottom half. It was slung low on her hips and ended at the tops of her thighs. The way the thing looked on her, she may as well have been naked.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Coercion / Heterosexual / Rough /